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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24436084">any trophy i could ever get (doesn't compare to the light in your eyes)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_aligning/pseuds/stars_aligning'>stars_aligning</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Michelle Jones, F/M, Fever, Fluff, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Nausea, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Protective Ned Leeds, Sick Peter Parker, Sleepy Peter Parker, Spideychelle, Tired Peter Parker, Whump, Worried Ned Leeds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:41:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24436084</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_aligning/pseuds/stars_aligning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ned swallows and glances up at her, before his eyes fall back to his feet. “He’s not coming today, MJ, he’s sick. He came down with the chicken pox this morning.”</p><p>“Bullshit,” she shoots back. “You and I both know he can’t get sick. Why are you lying?”"</p><p>(Or, Peter gets sick for the first time after Far From Home, and Michelle thinks he’s lying. Hint: he’s not.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michelle Jones &amp; Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>any trophy i could ever get (doesn't compare to the light in your eyes)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brentinator/gifts">Brentinator</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a Spideychelle fic I've written for Brentinator's birthday, and I just want to say you're the best person I've ever known, Susz. You're sweet, honest, amazing, and always know what to say, and you're the Stiles to my Scott, and the Stiles to my Lydia. I love talking to you, ranting to you, working with you, and I hope you have an absolutely amazing day today. You deserve it and you should be so, so proud of who you are.</p><p>(Beta reading and editing credits also goes to jaybaybay, spideygirl2003, and perseusjaxon on Tumblr. I love you all &lt;3)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What do you mean Peter’s sick?” Michelle demands, as she stares down at the boy across from her. They’re about to go to a decathlon match—nationals, actually—in Portland, Oregon, and, as soon as the words come out of her mouth, Ned shrinks under her gaze. <em>‘It’s funny,</em>’ she thinks, <em>‘how I still have this power, even though we’re supposedly friends now.’</em> She also has to admit, that it is uplifting that Ned’s still scared of her, despite the fact that they talk on a daily basis. She likes it, she decides. </p><p>“I-I mean—" Ned swallows and glances up at her, their eyes briefly meeting for a split second —hers filled with fire, and worry wallowing in his— before his eyes fall back to his feet. “He’s not coming today, MJ, he’s sick. He came down with the chicken pox this morning.” </p><p><em>“Bullshit,”</em> she shoots back, emphasizing the word, as she crosses her arms and continues her glaring. They’re supposed to be on stage in a little over an hour, and Peter specifically said he wouldn’t miss it, and she’s going to hold him to that. “You and I both know he can’t get <em>sick</em>.” This is most definitely true; the last time Peter had caught a viral illness was in their freshman year, when they visited Oscorp, and he ended up puking all over himself. Of course, there was also the time he ended up with food poisoning right before their regionals match in Philadelphia, and ended up spending an entire two hours in the bathroom with his head in her lap, but still; Peter getting sick is a rare occurrence, and the only reason it even did occur was because it was bacterial. Not viral. <em>“Why are you lying?” </em></p><p>“I-I’m not!” Ned says as he shakes his head. But even so, she can tell he is. The two of them are weird like that; while Peter pauses while he’s lying, as if he can’t think of something to say, or can and is just trying to make it sound plausible, Ned stutters and does this odd, nervous laugh he has. His voice also goes up an octave too, just like Peter’s (<em>‘God, it’s like they’re actually related,’</em> she thinks distantly to herself), but she decides not to point that out. Ned already looks scared enough as it is and intimidating him anymore would just make him flat-out faint. </p><p>
  <strike>Too bad she’s going to keep doing it anyway. </strike>
</p><p>“Fine,” she replies, deciding to play nice. Her voice is now sickeningly sweet, like syrup dripping down after it’s been spilled, and a small, but sarcastic smile laces on to her face. “Say that you’re right, and that you’re telling the truth—’’ </p><p>“—I am!” </p><p>“Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking,” she interjects, face morphing into one of disgust. Ned quiets, and she instantly continues. “So, let’s say that you’re right, and that he does have the chicken pox, and that he <em>is</em> sick. How sick is he that he can’t compete?” </p><p>“MJ, he woke up with a fever this morning. I think that pretty much disqualifies him, anyway.” </p><p>“It does,” she agrees. “But this is nationals, and he already missed regionals, Ned. Plus, this is a physics challenge, and he’s our best player. So, and this is the last time I’m going to ask you this: how sick is he?"</p><p>Ned sighs, and runs a hand through his hair, before repeating what he previously said once again. “He’s sick, MJ,” he explains, his tone truthful and honest. “On a scale of one to ten, it’s a seven, maybe eight. He was covered in chicken pox when he woke up, and his fever’s at 100.2. I don’t know what else you want me to tell you.” </p><p>Concluding that that’s all the information she’s probably gonna get out of her boyfriend’s best friend, Michelle nods and gives in. “Okay,” she states. “If Peter’s sick, then he’s sick. I’m going to go tell Harrington about the change of plans, and to put Brad in. But I also need to get something from my room. Can you tell the team and make sure they’re prepared for me?” </p><p>At this, Ned’s eyes change. He no longer looks worried and frustrated, and instead looks relieved and content. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “‘Course.”</p><p>“Good.” The girl gives a short, curt nod herself, and smiles politely, before going on her way. “I’ll be back in half an hour.” </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Ten minutes later, Michelle is standing in front of Peter and Ned’s door, arm raised and hovering. Bringing her knuckles down, she knocks three times, and waits there, tension in her bones and her stomach filling with butterflies. There's like, a seventy-five percent chance that Ned is lying to her and that Peter has probably just gotten back from patrolling and promptly passed out (they’d been together for a little over six months now, but he still tended to hide his injuries and how tired he was, for her sake), but what if he really is sick? Sure, she thought that he was fine on the plane, aside from being a bit tired, and running a little warmer than usual, but it’s a well-known fact he runs hot. And if he really was sick and found out that she didn’t believe him… God, that would be terrible and she’d feel like the worst girlfriend on earth.</p><p>Knocking on the door once more, Michelle waits a few more minutes, before she just decides to give up, and takes out the extra door card from her pocket. Swiping it against the scanner, she watches as the light turns from red to green. “Peter?” She calls out, voice soft, as she opens the door with her right hand, and tucks the key card back into her pocket with her left. Taking a moment, she turns around and gently nudges the door closed, before walking on her heels (she wanted to be quiet, in case Peter was asleep) and continuing her journey into the room. “Nerd?” She calls out again. “You in here?” </p><p>“MJ?” comes the small, quiet reply. Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Michelle peers around a corner and tries her best to mask her surprise when she sees that her boyfriend really is sick. Covered in red blisters, looking whiter than a sheet, and sporting a massive case of bedhead, Peter really does look terrible. If he hadn’t even responded to her or opened his eyes, Michelle wouldn’t have even thought he was alive. “Wh’t are you—?” Peter pauses, taking a moment to scratch at a scab in his ear, before going back to relieving the itch on forehead again. “Wh’t are you doin’ here?” </p><p>Michelle smiles sweetly (for real this time), moving to sit on the bed as she does so. “Ned told me you wouldn’t be able to compete,” she says, making a move to grasp his hand. She stops, though, when she realizes it’s wrapped in white. “What is this?” </p><p>Peter sits up a bit more, back leaning against his pyramid of pillows, before realization dawns on him and he realizes what she’s asking about. “Ned, he—he had to gauze me,” he answers. Then, taking a deep breath, the boy swallows thickly and tries to quell the nausea in his stomach, before he continues talking. “Kept scratchin',” he finally gets out. “Didn’t like it. Told me to stay b'ck, not get out of bed.” </p><p>Michelle huffs at this but doesn’t say anything. She’s pissed at Ned for disqualifying Peter from the competition (from nationals, no less), but knows it was going to happen anyway; if Peter had actually gone down to where the team was meeting and thought he could compete, Michelle would’ve sent him right back to bed herself. Still, though, despite her annoyance, she’s not going to say anything. If she does, there’s no doubt that Peter’ll push himself and participate anyway, and faint, and that’s the last thing she wants to happen. Not again, not like it did at regionals. </p><p>
  <strike>Fucking regionals. </strike>
</p><p>“Good,” she says instead. As much as she hates to admit, Ned is right, and he does know what he’s talking about, since his sister came down with the chicken pox a few years back. She tells as much to Peter, who is growing more tired by the minute, but still leans into her touch when she brushes a curl away from his face. </p><p>A comfortable silence settles over them and it finally seems that Peter’s eyes have drooped closed and that he’s asleep until he breaks the silence and speaks. “‘M sorry I can’t compete,” he says, at last. “I-I know this h'ppened at regionals, and I really didn’t mean to get sick, MJ. I-I know—” He stops to scratch at a blister on his wrist, before moving up to his left temple, and Michelle instantly moves his hand away from his face. “I know this was really importan' to you.” </p><p>“Hey.” Despite his hands being wrapped in bandages (God, she wishes she could hold his actual hands. She misses the softness of his skin, the feel of his fingernails, the scars he received from running into fires freely, and saving cats from trees. She misses <em>him</em>.), she takes his hand in her left, and uses her right to lift his chin, so they’re making direct eye contact now. “I’m not going to lie, this competition is important to me, okay? But, so are you, and you are way better than any trophy I could ever get.” </p><p>Peter smiles at this, still tired but happy, and Michelle swears her heart is pounding. Or maybe it isn’t, because her heart could have leapt into her throat for all she knows. Either way, as they gaze into each other’s eyes and lean in to connect their lips to kiss, it doesn’t matter right now. But, then, the alarm goes off on her phone, and the spell is broken, and <em>‘honestly,’</em> Michelle thinks. <em>‘What the fuck?’ </em></p><p>“Sorry,” she apologizes, putting the stupid thing on ‘snooze’ and tucking it away into her back pocket. The competition starts in a half an hour, and with the ten minutes it takes to get to the building, and the extra five minutes it takes for the metal detectors, she knows that she has to leave now if she wants to be ready, and have a chance to arrive on time. But she doesn’t want to leave Peter. “That’s my—that’s my alarm, I have to get going.” </p><p>Peter nods at this, and runs a hand through his hair, and Michelle swears that she just falls in love with him all over again. “Yeah,” he answers, giving her a small, shy smile. “Um… good luck?”</p><p>Michelle laughs and smiles brightly. “Thanks,” she says.</p><p>With Peter by her side, though, she doesn’t think she needs it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I love comments and kudos, and I am open to requests. &lt;3</p><p>Join me on Tumblr @clover-roseee!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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